


Old Dogs.

by tangerinefields



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hope, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 17:57:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2437781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangerinefields/pseuds/tangerinefields
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For once, sex just won't shut Sirius up. [1995]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Dogs.

Old Dogs.

[October, 2014]

 

                   He jammed his tongue deep into his molars before he said it. “I had a dream.”

                  “What about, Mr King?”

                  “I don’t even know who that is, Rem.”

                  “You don’t- Padders.”

                  “It’s Muggle news.”

                  “What would Prongs say?”

                  “Nothing. He’s dead, Rem.”

                  Remus folded his hands in his lap and said, “What kind of dream?”

                  “A bad dream.”

                  “A nightmare?”

                  “Yeah. I guess it was a nightmare.”

                  He waited patiently, his fingers interlocked. In the long thin chair Remus Lupin was longer and thinner than ever before and his eyes were greener than ever before and the retroussé pull of his lips was more gravity defying than ever before and he was old and wasted and stunning.

                  Sirius looked up with a challenge for the silence. “I woke you, didn’t I?” It was a bit defensive. I didn’t _mean_ to, it groused.

                  “Yes. You were talking.”

                  “What did I say then?”

                  “You said Remus.”

                  “Remus?” He sounded out the superfluous syllable. The together syllable he never used.

                  “I thought it was odd. I hadn’t heard you say it since first year.”

                  He shifted uncomfortably on the damask bedspread. “I said it once.”

                  “Yes,” he agreed, “You did say it that once.”

                  Sirius lifted his eyes but Remus met them bluntly and instead of sharing the story he said,

                  “Is that what the dream was about?”

                  “No.” And then after a pause, “That wouldn’t have been a nightmare, Rem.”

                  The chair creaked as Remus left it and dipped the mattress. The gap between them furred and thickened and Remus lent into it and murmured, “No, I don’t suppose it would.”

                  “You don’t _suppose_?” It was accusatory and Remus answered it by pressing the warm pad of his palm against Sirius’ thigh, his fingers curling against the softest hollow of his skin. He closed the pulsing gap and sucked a dim mark into Sirius’ bottom lip that made him gasp and jerk his fingers up into Remus’ blond hair.

                  “What was that for?”

                  “Shutting you up,” Remus said.

                  Sirius shuddered. His heart thud thudded hard in his chest. As Remus’ fingers smoothed his stiff trousers, he felt his cock stir. He untangled his hand from Remus’ hair and petulantly said,

                  “I had a nightmare.”

                  “I don’t want to know about that.” Remus’ other hand untucked his shirt and slid under the cotton, sparking off the nerves under his skin.

                  “I want to tell you.” But Remus had climbed onto his lap and pressed against the weight of his thigh Sirius’ cock was craving and straining for the heat of him. He choked on a groan as Remus ran his fingertips along the thrust of his hard on. “Rem-“ he whined.

                  “Shush,” Remus hissed, his wet tongue twisting over Sirius’ teeth. Sirius let himself be taken in and then he snatched his moment from Remus’ need to breathe,

                  “I had a nightmare,” he said brazenly. “You were dead.”

                  Remus stilled, his hand poised to coil around Sirius’ cock, the cold air surging through them and puckering goose bumps from Sirius’ pushed apart thighs.

                  “Well I’m not.”

                  “Well you were.”

                  “It was a just dream, Sirius.”

                  Sirius’ lips twitched. “You were still dead.”

                  Remus drew his hand crisply away. He shifted away from Sirius’ pulled down pyjamas and the old mattress tipped. “You can sort yourself out.”

                  Sirius let fly a broken breath and it caught in his throat as these things tend to. “Rem…”

                  “I don’t want to hear your dreaming.” He clambered from the bed, his fingertips straightening his Sirius-strummed strands of hair for the benefit of the kitchen. Molly knew, of course, but she preferred not to have that knowledge confirmed. Remus waited with a stone in his ribs for the day she said, “It isn’t right.” And knew he wouldn’t know if she meant their genitals or their individualities.

                  “Why?” Sirius eyes were very large and his skin was very pale and propped up against the stiff pillows he seemed very small. He fumbled with the question and had to say it again. “Why don’t you want to hear it, Rem?”

                  “Does it matter?”

                  “Yes.” He had shrivelled up and he was shivering in the sudden cold of just his own body. “Course it matters. I love you.”

                  Remus threw his empty hand at him. “That’s half the problem.”

                  And Sirius said, “What’s the other half?”

                  And Remus faltered.

                  “What’s the other half of the problem, Rem?”

                  “It’s just a turn of phrase, Sirius.”

                  They stared at each other and then Remus said back down on the bed and his face tight he said,

                  “You talk too much.”

                  Sirius coughed on a laugh, “I had a lot of time listening to my own voice.”

                  “You always liked the sound of it.”

                  “Tosspot.”

                  “Wanker.” It sounded odd from Remus’ worn lips. It didn’t quite make him young again like it made Sirius. Because you were a professor, mate, Sirius had said once, at the very beginning, when buried inside him, Remus had moaned through a mouth full of profanities. Sirius had picked it up later. At the time he’d been otherwise engaged.

                  “I will be,” Sirius said, “If you don’t come back.”

                  “I should leave you here.”

                  “Why?”

                  “I should.”

                  “You’re not going to.”

                  Remus’ tongue left the roof of his mouth with a slick click. “What did you do, in the dream, when I was dead?”

                  “What did I do?” Sirius shrugged, pushing out his lips. “I woke up.”

                  Remus snorted dismissively. “Of course you did.”

                  “I woke up and you were there.”

                  “All silver in the moonlight, was I?”

                  “Well your hair was.”       
                  “Oh shut up.” And then he shuffled up the bed and flicked a hand at Sirius’ mane. “You’re worse.”                

                  “You’re older.”  

                  “You…” He creased with saying it, “You fancy me.”

                  “I’ve got bad taste.”

                  Remus laughed a bit at that. “I should be offended.”

                  “Yeah.” Sirius’ eyelids dropped and he found himself looking at the bedspread and not at the man sat on it. “I do love you and it’s alright,” he scrunched his face as a gasp of a breath stuttered over his lips, “No it’s not alright if you’re over it but I don’t think you are.” He risked a look up. “You’re not, are you Rem?”

                  “I don’t know.”

                  “Course you know.”

“Sirius if something happens to me,” And when Sirius tried to stopper the logic Remus pulled back and Sirius’ fingers found his heart instead and curled there. “If I die, you can’t wake up and set it right.”

                  “I know,” Sirius agreed, webbing his hand through Remus’ hair. “But I can dream about tonight, right?” 


End file.
